The Moth & the Flame

I'd much rather fall to my death than admit my weakness to you." "The captain of the Royal Guard wants to impress a lowly handmaiden?" "A clumsy young man wants to impress a beautiful young woman.

Those many quiet moments reminiscing on days long past. On memories ever present. “May

There is no way to know for certain what lurks in the shadowed corners of the mind.

Anything is possible so long as there is a strong will behind it.

If it's too early for wine, then it's too early for reflection.

But I do know anything is possible,” Despina finished softly. “So long as there is a strong will behind it.” She reached for the handle of the chamber door, resolve flowing through her veins. No. Her child would never bow to anyone. The world would fall to its knees first. Despina would make sure of it.

No. Despina would continue working at the palace until she could hide the truth no longer. Then she would set her world straight, once and for all. This child would not be raised to fear or hate the world around it. Be made to bow and cower to lesser men. No. The world around this child would bow first.

And for a single moment, they forgot who they both were.

the flash of light drew him toward her, like a moth to a flame.

Had I won the wager, I would have asked for your name.

And I’d much rather fall to my death than admit a weakness to you.

All women seek compliments.” “And all men think they know everything.

When a ray of afternoon sun struck its surface, the flash of light drew him toward her, like a moth to a flame.

Did you hear?” Ruha said quietly once the two young girls had left. “This one volunteered.” Despina cut her gaze at Ruha. “What?” “She volunteered to marry the caliph.” Despina blinked. “Poor little fool.

The caliph was marrying again at dusk. Despina had lost count of how many young girls had been brought to the palace to wed a king only to die the following day.

The young Calipha of Khorasan—Ava, the girl who studied calligraphy and spoke with the gentleness of a passing breeze—had perished. Two mornings ago, the caliph himself had found her on that very same balcony, cold and motionless and alone.

smirk that begged to be slapped. Despina had heard tales of him. The palace was rife with salacious talk. And the captain of the Royal Guard had quite the reputation. A notorious rake. One who’d broken many hearts. He could supposedly charm the skirts off a girl with nothing but sly words and flippant promises.

Her name was Ava. That much they all knew and not much more. In their language, it meant “voice.” Strange that this slender sylph of a queen exhibited anything but. When she was in need of something, she sent her most trusted servants. Hushed conversations transpired in shadowed hallways. And all was handled in an equally discreet manner. Perhaps a somewhat taciturn queen would suit the young caliph. After all, Khalid Ibn al-Rashid had always been a boy of few words.

But the new Calipha of Khorasan was purportedly the quiet sort. And when Despina had last seen her—though it was but a brief instant—the lovely girl seemed . . . elsewhere. As though her mind lived amongst the clouds.